


Another Mad Tea Party

by ssclassof56



Series: Then Live With Me and Be My Love [4]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Family, Family Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-22
Updated: 2017-04-22
Packaged: 2018-10-22 15:21:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10699734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ssclassof56/pseuds/ssclassof56
Summary: The boys are forced to attend their sister's tea party.





	Another Mad Tea Party

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to LiveJournal's MFU Map Room for a Section7MFU - Short Affair Challenge  
> Prompts: harm / pink

“Why do I have to be here?” Sasha asked. He leaned on the table with his chin in his hands and his lips set in petulant lines.

Illya shifted in the miniature Windsor chair, attempting without success to find a comfortable position. He skewered his son with a cool blue stare. “Because your sister invited you, and you were in no position to refuse. Now sit up.”

Sasha unfolded himself with obvious reluctance. “At least I was on time,” he muttered, looking at the empty chair beside him.

Liliya presided over the table in her frilliest pinafore. With brow furrowed in concentration, she poured lukewarm tea from an undersized teapot into a matching pink porcelain cup. “Sugar?” she asked her father.

He shook his head. “Jam, please.”

“Papa, that’s for the scones.”

“You take it your way; I'll take it mine.”

Liliya’s smile, as she dutifully added a spoonful of jam to his tea, was that of a hostess determined to magnanimously overlook the eccentricities of her guest.

A discreet cough from the doorway drew their attention. Faustina stood in the threshold. When all eyes were on her, she bobbed a curtsy and announced, “My lady. Gentlemen. May I present Napoleon Illyich Kuryakin.”

Léon swept into the room dressed in a rusty black tailcoat. He surveyed the table with a supercilious air, aided by a monocle screwed into one eye. He removed a threadbare, silken top hat and executed a florid bow. Momentarily forgetting her grande dame manner, Liliya clapped in delight.

Spouting a torrent of French, as effusive as it was ungrammatical, he strode over to his sister and pressed a loud, smacking kiss onto the back of her hand. Illya could make out an apology for his tardiness, which he blamed in varying degrees on his valet, his horse, and the weather. Liliya, whose French was far better than her brother’s, giggled and waved him into the empty chair. Leon flipped up the tails of his coat and sat down.

Sasha rolled his eyes. “Your accent is worse than Uncle Napoleon’s,” he said sourly.

Léon smacked his opera hat onto the table, collapsing it in a puff of dust. “You dare impugn my character, sirrah. My seconds will call on you in the morning.”

"Oh, give off. I'm not sure what you think you're accomplishing. We're still grounded.”

Léon took in his father's nod of confirmation and sighed dramatically. “Tis true, sadly. However, me thinkest it wise to bank some goodwill against our next misadventure,” he said and winked.

Sasha rounded on his mother, who, still acting as maidservant, carried in the tray of promised scones. “Can he do that?”

Faustina shrugged. “There's no harm in trying.”

Sasha glared menacingly at his twin over his teacup. “We’ll see about that.”


End file.
